Tucker brought the second image forward. Same angle only a few seconds later, he guessed. The woman who had been climbing into the back seat was just a shape through the rear window now. The driver had also disappeared.
But the man who’d been getting into the front passenger seat was still there. It looked like he was just about to slide in, but in doing so he had turned and given the camera his profile.
Tucker leaned in toward the computer screen. There was something about the man. Something familiar.
He knew if he just concentrated for a minute, it would come to him. He switched back to the first shot, looking at the man’s back. Nothing special there. Lean, but not thin. A little under six feet tall. He looked strong—not rippling-muscle strong, but useful strong. Like he was the kind of guy who could do a lot of things.
Tucker clicked on the second picture. It confirmed what he’d seen in the first. A man of action. He flipped between the photos, letting the images dance on the screen in front of him.
Back.
Profile.
Back.
Profile.
Back.
Profile.
Stop.
All of a sudden he was remembering snow. Not the snow that capped the peaks just outside the entrance to Yellowhammer. German snow. Berlin snow.
Jonathan Quinn.
That’s who he was looking at. Jonathan-fucking-Quinn. Tucker had last seen him on a sidewalk in Tiergarten in the middle of Berlin almost a year and a half earlier. They’d made a deal. Tucker had given up his boss’s whereabouts, and Quinn had let him walk away alive.
Jonathan Quinn. Goddammit.
He looked back at the first picture, this time concentrating on the woman getting into the back seat. Like before, he could only see her back, but now that he knew what to look for, her hair and her height gave her away.
Dark, probably black, and a little longer than it had been in Berlin. As for her height, she didn’t even look like she cleared the top of the Jetta.
Orlando. She’d been on that sidewalk with Quinn and Tucker. There had been murder in her eyes. His murder if she had had her way. Couldn’t really blame her. He’d been involved in the abduction of her son, after all. But a deal was a deal, and Quinn had made her keep it.
If Tucker’s and Quinn’s roles had been reversed, he wasn’t so sure he would have been as honorable as the cleaner had been. Honor, he knew, was mostly bullshit anyway.
The other man had to be Quinn’s assistant. What the fuck was his name? Tucker realized he wasn’t sure he had ever heard it. Didn’t matter anyway. Quinn was the important one.
But in reality, their presence didn’t change anything. Tucker seriously doubted Quinn and his team even knew about Yellowhammer. How could they? Even if they had been able to get to Marion and talk to her, they would have learned nothing, because she knew nothing. Tucker was sure of that now. He believed her story about the African girl. Playing the part of the good Samaritan, she had unintentionally gotten in the way. That had been all there was to it.
They’d been hunting her not so much to get the child back, but because they were worried she’d known more than she did. She’d been a potential leak that needed to be stopped. Tucker’s fault, really. He knew that. The army colonel he’d hired in Côte d’Ivoire had been too heavy-handed. Tucker had told him a less direct approach was best. Fewer questions that way. And much more cooperation. But the man had gone in with a whole squad, acting all tough and demanding. Stupid.
Tucker closed his laptop and leaned back in the chair. The only thing that stopped him from giving the order to get rid of the Dupuis bitch at that moment was the what if floating in the back of his mind. What if Quinn had actually made it this far? What if it was one of the cleaner’s team poking around outside the fence? Or better yet, what if it was Quinn himself who had tripped the motion sensor?
Tucker liked to believe he was always thinking ahead and preparing for all the different possibilities. Covering his own ass just in case. If Quinn somehow got the upper hand—which Tucker thought very unlikely—Marion Dupuis could then become a bargaining chip. Tucker could play to Quinn’s honor again, giving him the woman and walking away clean. Or better yet, he could use Dupuis to trap the cleaner, then threaten to kill the woman if Quinn didn’t tell him everything he knew. It would be an interesting experiment to see how far Quinn’s honor went.
Tucker couldn’t help but smile at the possibility.
Marion was getting worried. She’d been locked in her dark cell for hours without another visit from the Australian or the old man with the creepy eyes. From the little experience she’d had, that was unusual. Until now, they hadn’t let her go for more than two hours without another round of questioning.
She kept time by pacing the cell and brushing the fingers of her hand along the wall, letting them guide her so that she wouldn’t run into anything. She slowed her pace so that it took a full thirty seconds to make one circuit, then began counting laps, one minute for every two, an hour for every 120.
A couple of times she lost count and had to estimate, but she didn’t stop until she reached 800. By her estimate over six and a half hours. But it wasn’t her legs that stopped her. It was her fear.
Six and a half hours and no visitors?
No one had even come to see if she needed to use a toilet. She didn’t. She hadn’t drunk enough liquids in the last twenty-four hours to warrant that.
Something must be wrong, she thought. Could they have decided they didn’t need her anymore, and were just going to let her die?
Maybe everyone was gone. Maybe there was no one left here but her.
She started breathing faster as her fear took a sharp turn toward panic.
Without even realizing it, she began circling the room again, hoping to reassure herself that she’d get out of here. Somehow. But it didn’t work. She knew her life, the life she wasn’t ready to give up yet, was almost over.
No. Not just her life, she reminded herself.
“God, please,” she said out loud. “Please watch over Iris. Don’t let them hurt her. Please. Don’t let them.”
CHAPTER
27
“DAMMIT,” NATE SAID.
Quinn looked up. They had been trying to move into a position with a better view of the guardhouse. Nate had been on point, fifteen feet in front of him. He was still there, but instead of standing, he was on the ground. Quinn raced forward, his eyes darting around as he knelt down next to his apprentice.
“Are you hurt?” Quinn asked.
There was a pause. “I tripped on something,” Nate said. “A bush, I think.”
Quinn tried to give Nate a hand up, but Nate said, “I’m fine.” Then pushed himself to his feet unaided.
Nate was about to start up again, but Quinn stopped him. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
In the distance he had heard a scrape. Like a shoe slipping on rock. But the sound didn’t come again.
“What was it?” Nate asked.
“I think someone’s out there.”
“A guard?”
“Must be.” Quinn thought for a moment. “Go around the right side of that hill.” He pointed at a mound of rock rising ahead of them another fifty feet. “I’ll go left. Let’s meet back here in ten minutes.”
Nate nodded.
“And Nate,” Quinn added as Nate was about to leave.
“What?”
Quinn smiled. “Don’t trip.”
Tucker had grown impatient waiting for word about the possible intruder, so he had the guard at the gate patch all communications with the search team to his radio. Now he sat staring at the small black unit on his desk, listening to bouts of dead air between bursts of digitally encrypted transmissions.
“Base to four,” a voice said.
The two-man team had been joined by the four men Tucker had sent. The man in the guardhouse was Base, while the searchers were numbered two through six.
“Four,” another voice replied, his
tone hushed.
“Status.”
“Grid H-3 clear.”
“Move to H-4.”
“Roger.”
“Base to five.”
“Five here,” the new voice said. Before Base could ask for a status, he went on. “I have a visual. Repeat, I have a visual.”
“Grid?”
“A-2. Near the fence. Looks like a male.”
Tucker couldn’t help himself. He picked up his radio and pushed transmit. “What’s he doing?”
There was a pause, then five said, “He’s prone. No movement.”
“Is he injured?” Tucker asked.
“Doesn’t appear to be. His eyes are open and active.”
There was dead air for a moment.
“Base requests instructions,” the man at the guardhouse said, his question directed at Tucker.
“Is he alone?” Tucker asked.
“I haven’t seen anyone else,” five said.
Tucker thought for a moment. “Have your man stay there and keep an eye on him. Report any movement. Have the others move in and check surrounding area to make sure he’s alone.”
“Roger,” Base said. “Five hold position. Two, four, and six sweep grid points B-2, B-3, and A-3. If clear, proceed to A-4. Three, move to A-1 to cover any potential forward movement by intruder.”
Guards two, three, four, and six all replied with “Roger.”
Then the radio went dead again.
“I’ve got movement.”
Nate’s voice was so low, Quinn almost thought he was imagining it. As if he could see where Nate was, he turned to the west, but the only thing there was the hill that separated them.
“What is it?”
“Looks like one of the guards. He’s at my two o’clock, a hundred and twenty feet away, but coming in this direction.”
“Standard patrol?” Quinn asked.
“Definitely not. He’s sweeping, and keeping low. He’s looking for something.”
“Is he alone?”
“I… don’t see anyone else.” Nate’s voice lacked confidence.
“Where are you?”
“I found a crevice between two boulders. Southwest corner of the hill.” He paused. “I can also see a motion sensor. It’s about forty feet in front of me.”
“Did you trip it?”
“I … I don’t think so.”
“If you think you can, back out of there,” Quinn said. “Otherwise hold tight until they’re gone. I’ll go up the hill and see if I can get an overview.”
“Copy that.”
Quinn turned to his right and began ascending the hill.
• • •
“B-4 clear,” two said.
Several seconds later, six added, “A-4 also clear.”
Good, Tucker thought. He’s alone.
He pushed the transmit button on his radio. “Close in and apprehend. I want to talk to him, so don’t kill him.”
“Roger,” Base said. “All units close in on A-2, but hold at least fifty feet out from intruder, then report when in position. Five, you have ground command.”
“Roger,” five said.
The first “in position” came forty-five seconds after the order was given. The last, a minute and a half later.
“Close to twenty-five feet,” five said.
Silence.
“Hands in the air!” five called out, his voice booming from the receiver.
It was followed in quick succession by similar calls from the other guards.
Tucker waited for the sound of gunfire, but there was none. Good, he thought.
“On your feet,” one of the guards called out. Tucker had lost track of who was who. “On your fucking feet!”
“Get up! Get up!”
“Drop your backpack to the ground, and put your hands on your head!”
“On your head, goddammit!”
“Four, six, search him.”
“I’ve got a gun,” a guard said. Six? “Spare mag in his pants pocket.”
“Backpack?” Tucker recognized the voice this time. Five.
“A couple more mags. Surveillance equipment. Some rope.”
“Use it to tie his hands.”
“Left hand down.” Several seconds passed, then, “Now your right.”
“Intruder secured.” Five again, his calmer tone denoting that this message was meant for Base and Tucker.
“Who is he?” Tucker asked.
“Name!” five shouted.
There was silence.
“I said give me your goddamn name!”
More silence.
There was a loud thwack. Tucker knew the sound well, rifle stock against flesh.
“Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name.”
Silence, then another smack.
“Doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, sir,” five said.
“Take him to the guardhouse and put him on the camera,” Tucker said. “I want to see his face.”
“Roger,” five said, then to the others, “Let’s move.”
Ten feet from the top of the hill, Quinn heard yelling coming from the other side.
“Nate?” he said.
No response.
He scrambled to the crest on all fours, crawling over the rocks and stopping only when he had a shielded position from which he could see what was happening.
At the base of the hill was a fifty-foot-wide gap of scattered boulders and sand. And standing in the middle of it were five men. Five armed men, Quinn noted. They stood in a loose circle around a sixth man who lay on the ground.
“Nate?”
Still nothing.
Quinn pulled out his binoculars and aimed them at the group. It was apparent the guards were not happy with the guy they were surrounding. Several aimed their weapons at him.
“Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name,” the guard closest to the man’s head yelled.
As the man stood up Quinn trained the binoculars on him, knowing what he’d see.
Only he was wrong. The captive wasn’t Nate.
“Nate,” Quinn said. “Where are you?”
The response came in two short, low bursts. “Can’t. Talk.”
Quinn swept the binoculars back toward the hill he was on, but didn’t see anything. He tried again, this time turning on the thermal-imaging overlay first. Unlike before, this time two small ovals stood out. They were poking out of the back of a crevice created by a couple of the large rocks that were leaning together.
“Tap your toe,” Quinn said.
“What?”
“Tap your toe.”
Quinn watched as one of the ovals moved upward, then tapped back down against the rock it had been lying on.
“I can see your feet.”
“You can see my feet?” Nate whispered.
“Just me,” Quinn said. “They don’t have an angle on you.”
Quinn returned his gaze to the group in the clearing. Who the hell was the guy they had caught? Was he out here alone? Quinn sensed he must be, because they had seen no sign of anyone else. One man, okay. Maybe Quinn could account for having missed a single person, if the guy was ahead of them. But two or more, no way.
What were the guards thinking, though? They had to be wondering if there were more people out here. If they started looking, Quinn and Nate were going to have to make a serious effort not to be found.
Down below, two of the security men had hold of their captive, while a third was saying something, this time his voice too low to be heard. A few seconds later, they started walking as a group in the direction of the guardhouse.
“We’re moving,” Quinn said.
“Back to the car?” Nate asked.
“No. We follow.”
“What about the sensors? We’ll trip them.”
“I know,” Quinn said. “Wait where you are. I’m coming to you.”
Quinn took two chances. First, he decided that any motion sensor alarms they might set off would be at
tributed to the group with the prisoner. Since no one had come looking for them, that part seemed to have worked fine. Second, he decided to see if they could get to the guardhouse before the others. He figured that by keeping close to the fence, the guards wouldn’t notice them as they passed in the darkness. That, too, had paid off.
A ridge of stones standing upright like a collection of monoliths less than a hundred feet from the concrete structure acted as perfect cover. Quinn found a gap between the rocks that gave him a good view of both the guardhouse and the short valley that led up to it.
“Don’t know if this is the right time to mention this or not, but we’re kind of trapped here, aren’t we?” Nate said. “I mean, when we head back, we’re going to trip the sensors again. And this time I don’t think they’ll ignore it.”
“We’re not going back,” Quinn said. “At least not yet.”
“Wait, we’re going to try to get inside the fence?”
“Maybe.”
“Didn’t you promise Orlando this was just a simple recon, and we wouldn’t be doing anything that could get us into trouble?”
“I guess I was wrong.”
The truth was Quinn hadn’t planned on making an incursion at all, but the opportunity presented itself, and instinctively he realized it might be their best chance at getting in. In his job, listening to those instincts wasn’t a luxury. He trusted them, and this time they had said, “Move!”
From the left, toward the other end of the valley, there was the sound of several footsteps. The others had arrived.
Quinn peeked between the rocks at the guardhouse. The door had opened halfway, and there was the shadowy form of a man standing just inside. As Quinn angled to the right so he could get a look at the guards, he pulled out his camera phone. They had closed into a tight group around their prisoner. Quinn snapped several photos as they approached the guardhouse. Once everyone was inside, he chose the best pics and attached them to a hastily prepared email.
Need ID on man tied up.
He started to address it to both Orlando and Peter, then changed his mind and sent it to Peter only. Best to let Orlando relax and not worry.
Shadow of Betrayal Page 27